


Before the End

by shadowrogue



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bittersweet, City Elf (Dragon Age) Origin, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Headcanon, Love Confessions, Past Violence, Rogue Warden (Dragon Age), Ultimate Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowrogue/pseuds/shadowrogue
Summary: Tabris and Zevran say their goodbyes.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	Before the End

"There is nothing, no words that I can say to change your mind, this I know. Yet I find myself wishing there were. That there was a way to keep you always by my side. I am a wicked man like that, my darling, for I would gladly watch the world burn to ash rather than see you go where I cannot follow."

Zevran held Anja close to his heart, her head tucked under his chin as he blinked back the burning tears threatening to fall from his eyes, feeling the way she trembled in his embrace.

His pretty little rogue was always so determined to appear strong in the presence of others. Correction, she _had_ to be. Because as the Warden, there wasn't much of a choice in the matter. In order to gather the forces they'd needed, there had been an unspoken obligation to hold her head up, even when she was weary right down to her bones; a duty to always keep fighting, foe after foe, be it darkspawn or human, until she was beaten and bloody, arms so tired her sabers fell to the ground.

Yet even then their mages would spell her, unnatural energy flowing through her veins as she once more stood and carried on.

If elves withheld the custom, surely she would be referred to as Holy, the equivalent of a Dwarven Paragon. For everything she did, she did for her people.

No matter the personal cost.

As it were though, here, alone with him in her room lit only by firelight, she let her powerful mask slip away to reveal who she truly was, and whom he alone knew her to be; a young woman, barely of age to be thrust out alone into this unforgiving world - let alone to lead armies - a girl who had grown to know nothing of life other than that of poverty, ruined dreams, and senseless violence.

She began to shake, the way a browning leaf does right before it falls from the tallest tree, her breathing coming in shallow bursts as she buried her face in his chest plate, clinging to him in desperation.

_"Zev-"_

She didn't want to die. He knew she didn't. But she had already voiced her choice in absolution; if Riordan should fail, and they all knew he would, then she would be the one to take the essence of the archdemon into her own body. She would willingly let it consume her, sparring Alistair to rule. For she believed it was only with his influence that life in the alienages would improve; it was why she had placed him on the throne to begin with, and it was why she was here now, quaking in terror as she said her goodbyes.

He shushed her, as one does a troubled babe, bringing his hand up to the back of her hair and stroking it. It had grown out some in the time that he had known her, no longer the lopped off mess it had been when she'd first sheared it with Duncan's sword. It now brushed softly just over the curve of her elegant neck and fell forward across her bright, clear eyes.

Eyes that had inadvertently captivated him ever since she'd first held a dagger flush to the edge of his throat. 

She had spared his life, Maker only knows why, and ever since that day he had chosen to stand by her side. First as a fellow swordsman, next an unsuspecting friend, and finally as a doomed lover.

He was perhaps both the luckiest and most unlucky man of all. To be gifted the chance to have and to hold a woman more beautiful and frightful than Andraste herself...only to have to watch her die a thankless death. One to save a country that had done nothing but take and take and take from her, relentlessly.

Had she not already given this war everything she had to give and more? It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair. But then, life rarely was. Zevran knew that first-hand. 

It made him sick to his stomach, knowing she was standing here before him in this moment, cheeks blush pink, yet tomorrow he would be carrying her in a cradle of his arms for the very last time, nothing more than a cold, mangled corpse. An empty grey husk. He felt his throat close up. He squeezed her tighter, as if he alone could anchor her to this world.

"I will miss you, _cielo,_ every hour of every day, and I will think of you always. You have ruined me that way, you know, for every time I look up to the stars I will think only of your silver eyes. When the wind blows, I alone will hear the echo of your many whispers in my ear…"

Anja leaned back, glancing up to meet his amber gaze, her eyes as tender as they were swollen and red.

"And when the sun shines?" she asked softly, "What then?"

He reached up, a single finger tapping his most prized possession, which had proudly hung from her ear ever since the night he'd finally swallowed his foolish pride and professed his affections.

"When the sun is shining I will remember the way its light caught this earring every morning as the sunrise bathed you in gold, stretched out on your bedroll beside me, legs tangled with my own."

She stood on her toes and kissed him deeply. He savored that kiss, committing it to memory. After all, there would only be but so many more of them.

"I love you," she whispered against his lips, "You know that, right?" 

As if he had any doubts left. "Yes...yes, I know."

Her hands fell upon his chest, fingers curling around the criss-crossed leather harness that secured his swords.

"I never thought it could be like this," she said in wonderment, the ghost of hopeful dreams playing at the corners of her upturned mouth, "Love, that is. You see, I had resolved myself with the knowledge that I would probably never grow to love...Nelaros-" She still had difficulty speaking aloud the name of her slain fiancé. "-but that we could be happy nonetheless. Content, after a time. But after having met you, I now realize that I would gladly trade over and over again one year to live, truly and deeply in love, then an entire lifetime living a lie. This, my dearest, is how you have ruined _me._ For you consume me Zevran, body and soul, like wildfire."

Tears did fall from his eyes then, which was a foreign feeling, unpleasant and blinding. He hadn't cried since childhood; he hadn't allowed himself to, knowing that if he did, he would be physically punished for it. Tortured until his senior Crows deemed his tears justified.

Though he would voluntarily crawl back onto the rack to spare his beloved her coming fate. If he could take her place in this ungodly sacrifice he would, without any hesitation.

For a killer deserved to die, while a savior did not.

"I am unworthy of such affections," he admitted.

She cradled his cheek in her small hand, thumb brushing over his tattoos. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes.

"You are worthy of the world."

He laughed. It was a broken, dejected sound. "A vagrant lie, my lady commander, but still the prettiest sentiment I have ever heard." He sighed wearily, his forehead pressed to hers. "You know I am also madly in love with you, yes? It is a miracle, really. Because for the longest time I thought myself incapable of feeling, well...much of anything. That is, until you. You are the one who granted me freedom from the life I had been purchased for, with no strings attached. I became my own man solely because you took a blind, hapless chance on a washed-up assassin. You were patient and forgiving. Never demanding, always kind. For all of this and more I thank you, and _selfishly_ ask that you take one last chance on me...and do me the honor of becoming my wife. Here, tonight, while there's still time."

She stepped back, almost dumbstruck, all worries of tomorrow's battle seemingly gone for a moment as a grin crept over her scarred, bruised face. "You meant it then, when you proposed? You would truly marry me? _You_ , Arainai? A married man?" 

"I am yours," he replied simply, "To kill for you, to die for you...to adore you. Until the very end, and perhaps even beyond that, Maker permitting."

She kissed him fiercely, her tongue tasting of salt and stolen wine, her unnaturally tainted strength knocking him off balance as she leapt once more into his awaiting embrace. He staggered in place, then turned to press her up against the nearest stone wall. It was as cold as she was hot, a most pleasant contrast as he kissed her in return, lips dragging hers with a purposeful, languid slowness, breathing in the vitality of their shared breath as if high on it. This was her way of saying yes, was it not?

"Now?" she asked, excitement sparkling in her eyes. Her voice was elevated, breathless in anticipation. She practically bounced up and down, as if he had presented her all of Ferelden on a silver tray.

He had never seen their fearsome leader smile like this before; simple and genuine. It was endearing...

...and the sight of it nearly shattered his resolve on the matter; something inside of him broke clean in two, irreparable.

She should have thousands of smiles left.

" _Sí, amor_. Now."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments appreciated!


End file.
